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My daily commute to and from work is 33 miles, each way. It takes me anywhere between 40 minutes and 2 hours to travel one way. Interestingly, 29 of the 33 miles account for about 35 to 40 minutes on the road. That’s right. The other 4 miles account for the rest — anywhere from 5 minutes to a whole hour-and-a-half of riding. And those 4 miles span that stretch between the Amsterdam Ave Exit and the Westchester Ave Exit on the legendary Cross-Bronx Expressway.

Running east-west, it is the only highway that runs through the heart of the Bronx. This is true in both the literal and figurative sense. Aside from bisecting the beleaguered borough, Robert Moses, its chief architect, in the 1950s and 1960s uprooted entire neighborhoods that defined Bronx culture (for more on on Robert Moses and the history of the Cross-Bronx, read The Power Broker: The Rise and Fall of New York, one of my favorite books ever).

Those four miles are a pure nightmare. Wes Craven or Sam Raimi, contact me if you want to brainstorm about a Cross-Bronx horror flick. I’ve got some great ideas. Traffic on the Cross-Bronx is only seldom caused by stalled cars or accidents. The highway is very steep at some sections. It was paved under train tracks and wide boulevards and over rivers and valleys. The lanes are narrow and there are hardly any shoulders. Because it runs east-west, the sun glares right at motorists at key times during the day. You can go blind having to readjust between the pitch darkness of the underpasses and the shimmering brightness on either side.

But the worst are the trucks. The Cross-Bronx, part of Interstate 95, is strategically situated in such a way that it connects New England to the rest of the United States. Trucks traveling to and from New England would literally have to venture into the Appalachians in order to avoid the Cross-Bronx Expressway. And so the thoroughfare seems to attract truckers from all over. Unseasoned truck drivers fail to downshift or upshift when necessary to maintain speed. Moreover, they stay in the fast lane, even though trucks and buses are prohibited. The result: a parking lot.

And when my little car gets wedged between a semi carrying ten silver Porsche Carreras from Connecticut to Nebraska and a wide WM truck carrying biohazardous waste from West Virginia to Rhode Island, I just want them to let me get to my little home in Riverdale. People often say, “well, at least you’re reverse-commuting.” On the Cross-Bronx Expressway, there is no such thing as reverse-commuting. Heck, sometimes, there’s no such thing as commuting. There’s just parking. There are other alternatives, but they usually involve going through Bronx streets, which may be just as stressful during rush hour.

On the upside, I get through huge segments of audiobooks on the Cross-Bronx. I also feel sometimes like I’m driving through history, trying to imagine how the landscape might have looked like before Robert Moses came and ruined everything. And, sometimes, from within the confines of my air-conditioned Prius, I shake my fist at him, partly blaming him for the fall of New York, partly for this morning’s traffic. That’s my form of social protest.
 

Scientists in Lucknow have unearthed a 65-million-year-old fossil, showing two tiniest members of the animal family in sexual union. What a way to go.

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Yeah, I made up that word. Googlebomb that, you egosurfing sheeple!

Anyhow, yours truly has been interviewed for an article about sequels. Too bad a link to my page was not included.

This Spring, I’ll be teaching a course: Introduction to Sequelogy™, at the KSCC (Kappock Street Community College). Registration ends today.

This morning simply sucked! We had a meeting that started at 9AM. For some reason, I decided to sleep in a bit, so I can leave at 8 sharp and get to the meeting on time.

As things go, I ended up rolling out at 8:20. Since I usually leave at 6:30, I don’t notice where I park. So I ended up with a parking ticket for violating street cleaning regulations. My first parking ticket in five years. Then, my usual route seemed to have turned into a 35 mile parking lot. I thought I had a reverse commute. Did the entire city decide to tag along? I showed up 45 minutes late for the meeting, the Prius’s average MPG went way down, and now, I’m pissed off for the rest of the day!

And for what, one measly hour of sleep!? This morning cost me $45 in the short term, with that bloody parking fine. Probably thousands in the long term, when you factor in all the medical expenses for dealing with the heart condition this episode may have produced. Then again, I can probably offset that amount by the living expenses this morning may have saved me when it shaved 5 years off of my life.

Frankly, I’d rather walk around tired. Nothing a triple espresso can’t combat. I really think exhaustion is overrated. I let it get to me too much. Perhaps this episode is good for me. It may teach me to be more responsible! I just need to learn how to take power naps.

“I drive a Toyota Prius!”

Seriously, I’m annoyed by environmentalists who turn every news event into another bit of evidence that humans cause global warming. So how does this news item measure up? The verdict is still out on whether or not CO₂ emissions cause global warming. While most scientists agree that there is some evidence that our globe is, well, warming through natural, measurable phenomena such as solar warming, there is absolutely no consensus in the scientific community that an unnatural (i.e., human) process is tipping the scale one way or the other. I am concerned about the environment, locally and globally. Hey, I drive a Toyota Prius! (really, that’s meant to sound sardonically irreverent, like “Dibbick Schmibbick, I Said More Ham”) I’m not saying that we humans do not cause global warming. I’m only skeptical about it. I just humbly think we’re totally meaningless in the grander scheme of things. When I see conclusive evidence to the contrary, I’ll undergo a paradigm shift (you guys don’t have to watch). So go ahead, do your own global warming research on Google Scholar, not on the political blogosphere.

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While living in Houston, Stacey and I set out to explore our backyard (and the back barn), so we got usselves a day trip book and successfully traveled many of the suggested itineraries. Add to that the many bike rides I’ve done around the area, and I’d say I’m as familiar with the Houston topography as your average Texas native.

Meanwhile, now that we’re back to New York, I realize how little I know about the region. Having grown up here, I never took much of an interest in exploring my surroundings. I managed to explore much of Brooklyn when I would tag along on my dad’s house calls. I became intimately familiar with the subway system, although, with the restructuring of the lines, even that knowledge is now obsolete. I’ve spent many summers upstate, so I have a basic familiarity with three or four towns up there. And, before moving to the Bronx this summer and starting work in Long Island, I can count the number of times I’ve visited both those places on my ten fingers.

And so we went on an expedition to Barnes & Noble, and picked up two books (The Hudson Valley & Catskill Mountains: An Explorer’s Guide and Wonderful Weekends from New York City) that should motivate us to reconnoiter our reestablished home state.

Yesterday, just to belabor the point, we did some sightseeing in Rockland County. First, we went apple picking at the Dr. Davies Farm in Congers with Rachel and John and friends. We walked out with a bag filled with 25 pounds of apple varieties I’ve never heard of and which we have no idea what to do with. We’ll probably redistribute some apples to our respective families. I also spent a good part of the evening scouring the web for recipes for apple pies, apple ciders, and applesauce. Following this most-successful apple picking expedition, we continued north on 9W and scaled up Bear Mountain. That is, the Prius did all the scaling, while Stacey was admiring the beautiful late-afternoon scenery, and I was grimacing at the ever-dipping average MPG value. The view from the top, especially given the clear weather and time of day (5:30 pm), was magnificent. Actually, I did bike up to the very summit of this menacing 1,300 foot giant (the 2,526th tallest mountain in the United States) this past August, but managed to appreciate the scenery much more this time around. Afterwards, we crossed the Hudson at the Bear Mountain Bridge and headed back home on Route 9 through Westchester.

I must say that even on that short, spontaneous trip we managed to enjoy a fun activity and see some great sights. I can’t wait to continue our off-the-beaten-path tri-state odyssey. If anyone would like to suggest an itinerary, or to share an exciting apple recipe, don’t hesitate!

Tom Friedman used a word in his latest op-ed column, “Chinese Finding Their Voice,” which I’ve never heard before: glocalization. It’s the next phase of globalization — “more and more local content made global.” The column discusses podcasting and open source software in China.

Articulating the idea as a word is important. It is really a powerful concept, because while opponents of globalization may be concerned about homogenization and loss of cultural identity, glocalization enriches personal identity through global dissemination. Podcasting, for one, has allowed otherwise obscure individuals express themselves creatively over the Internet.

During Hurricane Rita, while I was deeply concerned for the fate of Houston, I was unable to stomach coverage by neither CNN nor Fox News. They embody the dark side of globalization. In catering to the masses, they become superficial, bland, and otherwise uninformative. Instead, I found comfort in reading reports and blogs on the Houston Chronicle website, listening to streaming audio from local Houston stations, such as KTRH, and — yes, I’ll admit — KPFT, or even subscribing to Houston-based podcasts. And so, although I have moved 1,600 miles away, I was, to some measure, able to feel as if I were there.

That, to me, is the essence of glocalization. I hope that as the term becomes popular, it doesn’t turn into yet another malapropism, like a scalable enterprise solution (def. a corporate substance you can climb).

Craig Stroupe offers some interesting ideas about glocalization, and Wikipedia has an entry for it too.

The latest game is googling “ needs” (substituting your own first name, with the quotes) and then webbling the results. Like a mindless drone, I went ahead and gave it a spin. Since my first name is pretty unique, it was a bit of a shocker that even one result came up. It was buried at the very bottom of some Javascript reference page:

Shiran needs a 4th+ generation browser with Java and Audio enabled.

I’m a little insulted since I thought I already have one. Nay, two. On my Powerbook, I mostly use Safari, the first browser to pass the Acid2 test (interesting, it doesn’t seem to pass it right now). At other times I use Firefox, when some airline website doesn’t support Safari. Let me qualify this. It’s not Safari that’s broken. It’s these websites catering to the average customer who’s been hoodwinked and bamboozled (think Denzel as Malcolm X) into using Internet Explorer. And then having to unbreak their sites in order to support good browsers. As a matter of fact, the fault lies not with Safari, Firefox, Opera, etc., or, for that matter, with any of these websites. Rather, the fault lies with Microsoft, popularizing such a broken browser as Internet Explorer. Hopefully, the Firefox tidal wave and the popularization of OS X would force the websites to revamp their code and even explicitly endorse the other browsers.

As far as Firefox vs. Safari, I think that Firefox is the best browser out there. It is more extensible and feature-laden than Safari (if judged solely on the number of extensions that have been written by the community). And the developers are making great strides in making it OS X compliant. But Safari is far more integrated into the desktop, and it has that cozy native feel that the Cocoa framework provides.

Hey, I’m a mellow guy. Patient, relaxed, easy going. That’s me. But get me behind the wheel, and step aside, Dr. Jekyll. I’m a raging motorist. Watch out, buddy, I’m going somewhere important. I’m also a man on a mission. I’ve been anointed by a higher power to educate the ignorant masses on driving etiquette and mercilessly punish those who refuse to comply.

Living in Houston for four years has certainly shaped this peculiar behavior. Houston is full of blacktop transgressors, drivers whose prime concern is anything but driving, drivers who fundamentally refuse to signal when they change lanes, repeatedly go through red lights, and see nothing wrong with driving 35 on the fast lane of the interstate. And don’t get me started on the pickup trucks.

And so I took it upon myself to correct this wrong, one sinner at a time. I’d tailgate slow drivers until they get the idea and switch lanes. I would spot a car that doesn’t signal on the freeway, then cut it off obnoxiously, using my own turn signal, in a sign of protest. That’ll learn them. Through my crusade, I did have these instants of gratifying satisfaction. But the more I’ve been forced to think about it, mostly through my wife yelling at me that I’m a raving maniac, the more I realized that I can’t win. The ignorant shall never learn. Maybe they don’t know I’m just trying to help. Maybe there’s just too many of them.

Admittedly, my interstate messianism has been a point of contention with my wife. She would get extremely mad, I’d profusely apologize, express that I see my error, and promise never to do it again. But my emotions would still get the best of me. Did you see what that jerk in the F250 just did? I’ll show him. I would never learn. Road rage was etched in my soul.

Just as a footnote, since I should be getting on with the main point. I don’t think I ever was an unsafe driver. I have always been fully aware of my surroundings; I would regularly glance in the mirrors and anticipate other cars. And I would signal almost religiously. I signal when I pull into my carport. In the middle of the night. Still, the word on the street is that it’s often a nightmare being my passenger. I guess I’ll never know. I haven’t been involved in an accident since I was 18, and that one was not my fault (that old lady should simply have not stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk).

Anyhow, some months ago we moved back to New York. I got all environmental and got me a Toyota Prius. Then everything changed.

The Prius cured my road rage habits. I’m a changed man. In a matter of months I went from a stark mad hellbound road fiend to a puppy of a driver. I now stay just around the speed limit, if not slower. And I obediently swallow any abuse I get from other drivers. I just turn the other cheek. Yessuh, let me pull over so you can pass me.

See, it all has to do with fuel efficiency. Most hybrids come equipped with a digital display that shows real-time fuel consumption. I thought something was wrong when I was only averaging around 45 miles per gallon, as the car purports to get 60 miles to the gallon. Then I read up on PriusChat.com — where, incidentally, I discovered people that are far more obsessed about the Prius than I am — that you can get optimal fuel efficiency if you just stop driving like an animal. The forums even warned me that it would go against my primal instinct, but that I should conquer it. I decided to try it out, and so I bit my lip.

And it worked. I started characterizing the Prius in terms of physical principles. I’d let gravity work when I go downhill and not fight gravity too much when going uphill. Of course, sometimes I’d slow to 30 mph on a 55 mph interstate; although, for all the Houstonians out there, I’d do it in the right lane. The forums were right. The car behind would honk and my nostrils would begin to flare. But I quickly reminded myself that it just isn’t worth it. I clenched my teeth and drew a deep breath.

The mileage now averages in the mid-50s. I lose about 5 to 10 minutes each way on the commute, but it’s really not that bad. I commute about 2 to 3 hours each day, and my relatively relaxed poise more than makes up for those 15 minutes I’d waste anyway complaining about annoying drivers. As for the harassment by other drivers, well that’s just helping me build character. Seriously, I don’t know these people and will never see them again. So what do I care what they think?

Once in a blue moon, I would, just to prove to myself that I haven’t lost my touch, floor the gas pedal and weave in and out of cars. But then I’d feel bad again when the average would dip 1 mile per gallon.

I’m really content with my newfound driving habits. I find them more compatible with my mellow personality. I even think that they are influencing my personality in general. Just like Earl, I met Karma. I started paying attention to my behavior, trying to check myself before acting impulsively. I started to scrutinize my actions, or inactions, in terms of their consequences. It’s that old inner struggle between needs and wants. Is the instant personal satisfaction worth any adverse outcomes? I dare say, no. It’s true in driving. It’s true when I’m mad at my wife and want to say something extreme, just for effect. It’s true when I just have to have that delectable, crunchy, 4×10⁴ calorie Bloomin’ Onion^TM. It’s true when I want to write quick and dirty software, and without the tests. All it takes is a momentary pause to realize that you’re better off doing what’s right and not following your impulse. So now, just like me, all you have to do is follow Larry David’s example. Get a Prius.

The guys who like debating robot takeovers are now concerned about the publication of the 1918 flu genome. They’re typically paranoid, this time about the data being used as a biological weapon. Meanwhile, the likelihood that rogue scientists will be able to clone this 13,600 base sequence on a large scale is close to nil.

This argument can be reduced to the debate of “Knowledge as Power.” In the Information Age, will knowledge be used for good or evil? It remains to be seen. It’s a risk, but I side with the armies of open source. If we can draw any lessons from internet security, what we have seen so far is that every security threat mounted by the cracker forces has been quelled by the hacker community. Ironically, the power of computer viruses and worms has been derived not from knowledge but from the lack thereof. As soon as a security hole is found and exploited, a corresponding patch is released. I recognize that it’s a bit naive to draw such parallels, since the debate over the flu genome publication is a matter of life and death. But I still maintain that the availability of the data will be used for good. After all, the leading edge of biological and genetic technology can be found in reputable research centers and biotech companies across the world.

While computer crackers can maintain anonynimity by downloading source code, manipulating bits of 1s and 0s, and uploading it back into the ether, rogue scientists need physical genetic labs with advanced instrumentation and ample biological reagents. It would just be an impossible task for a mad scientist to perform incognito. A rogue Dr. Evil would just not be able to grow and distribute viable virus samples, at least just by possessing their genetic code. The only strategy may be to obtain and alter the DNA of sizable samples of the original virus, but those are under strict quarantine by the Centers for Disease Control. Just as the worst-case scenario weapon that terrorists can manufacture is a dirty bomb, so can a biological terrorist only make a half-assed attempt of engineering harmful viruses out of genetic code. It’s silly, really, because you can’t create a virus with incomplete DNA. As long as the world scientific community and government agencies such as the CDC keep tabs on biotechnological advancements, there is no chance that genetic code alone would be able to bring harm.

I have read excerpts from Ray Kurzweil’s books on the Age of Machines, and Bill Joy’s rebuttal, and have to say I’ve been amused. But their argument here simply does not hold water. They’re just being alarmist and fail to offer explanations for exactly how the genomic sequence of the 1918 flu virus can be exploited to create a biological weapon.

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